


Diplomacy

by afterwit



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-19
Updated: 2014-01-19
Packaged: 2018-01-09 06:55:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1142873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afterwit/pseuds/afterwit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lor’themar goes on a diplomatic visit to Kalimdor!  Set very shortly before the events of Cataclysm, but after the Shattering and reclamation of the Echo Isles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Diplomacy

“Is this all necessary?” Lor’themar frowned, sighing as Rommath signed another sheet of parchment. The gold and red quill dissolved from his hand as he waved the requisition away and toward the waiting Magister.

“Unfortunately, yes.”

He closed his eyes, rubbing at his temples. “I need a drink.”

Rommath waved a finger. “Plenty of time for that later, my Lord. We need to finish arranging…”

Lor’themar furrowed his brows for a moment, looking up from the papers on his desk, his good eye watching Rommath carefully. “You’re much better at it than I am- we both know that.”

Rommath nodded once, and a slight smirk carried over his high collar and into his eyes. “I can finish the rest. We’ll depart tomorrow at dawn.”

“Thank you. I need to speak with Halduron…”

Rommath shrugged. “I’m certain you know more where to find him than I do. Mind that he takes the sticks and leaves from his hair before we arrive in Orgrimmar, won’t you?”

Despite himself, Lor’themar smirked, shaking his head. “I doubt I’ll ever get you to see eye-to-eye.”

“And that is exactly why we need you.” Rommath waved a thin hand. “Is there anything else I should arrange?”

“A day off?”

“I’m afraid that’s a luxury only reserved for anyone who is not a Lord Regent.”

“I feared as much.” He nodded. “Then I can think of nothing else.”

“A good trait.” Rommath furrowed his brows, gesturing again as if to dismiss something he had conjured, and Lor’themar smirked as he realized he was being dismissed from his own room.

“Eventually, you’ll need to explain to me why we could not use one of the Magisters…”

“The Sin’dorei…” Rommath raised his chin a little. “…are not meant to sneak into Orgrimmar like common travelers.”

He shaded his face from the oppressive Durotar sun, looking over the desert with his good eye- the other dead and blind. There was chatter behind him, hushed voices in Thalassian, and he sighed. It had been nearly an hour since they had arrived here, but the messenger he had sent to Orgrimmar had not returned yet.

“You don’t think he’ll be back before sunset, do you?” Halduron leaned casually against the wood fence. His voice was calm, but he still kept a distance.

“I’d be foolish to think so.”

Halduron shrugged. “Your orders?”

Lor’themar cast a glare toward him, and shook his head. Perhaps Halduron despised him at times. He had almost grown used to it from others, but the distance Halduron kept from him still stung.

“My orders…” His voice was even, and he turned back to the procession. When he spoke again, it was in Orcish, the words rough-sounding in his throat, but his voice carried.

“We will meet the Warchief. We will not sit and wait for Hellscream to ask for us.”

Rommath nodded, the Blood Knight and Farstrider honor guard falling into pace to flank them. The air was dry, but he was thankful to have the sun as they rode toward the gates of Orgrimmar. The new Warchief had called for him, and much as he could feign ignorance, he knew why.

Sylvanas Windrunner.

He was not ignorant in Silvermoon- and it was carefully discussed when Hellscream had asked them to show themselves in Orgrimmar. Much as he had respected her in life, there were murmurs that she was not too fond of the Warchief. For all their pride, and much and he might wish it weren’t the case, they knew that Quel’thalas could not stand alone.

He was thankful his armor was light, more suited for movement than the heavy metal and silk robes of the Blood Knights that flanked him. The heat was stifling, but he knew he couldn’t do so much as remove his gauntlets before he spoke with Hellscream.

The gates of Orgrimmar loomed overhead, and they rode single-file through them, regrouping as they arrived inside the city proper. The hold stood in the heart of the city, and Lor’themar dismounted and handed the reins of his hawkstrider to one of the Farstrider guard. A small procession followed him- Rommath and Halduron silent as they walked directly behind him, and he paused for a moment as they stepped into the doorway. The dim took him a moment to adjust to, the hold lit by torches and flame, and he stepped ahead.

“Warchief.” He bowed his head slightly, having only caught a glimpse of the orc before he did. “You sent for us?” He scanned the room quickly, noting that the messenger was still alive, frowning as he stood off to the side, and he nodded.

“I did.” Garrosh Hellscream furrowed his brow for a moment, a small smirk playing at the corner of his lips. “You didn’t wait for the messenger.” He gestured to the Blood Elf, who cast a wary glance to the Regent Lord.

“I did not.”

There was a moment of silence, and he didn’t look away from the Warchief. Hellscream studied him closely, his eyes watching the scar on his face, settling on the dead eye, before he gestured to the two standing behind him. “I summoned you, not them.”

“They stand with me- we are the rulers of Silvermoon City.”

Garrosh considered it for a moment, and he smirked. “You cannot rule alone?”

Lor’themar’s voice was calm. “I consider it better to have allies.”

The Warchief considered it for a moment. “And your allies to the south?”

His words were carefully chosen, but he did not hesitate. “Our loyalty is to the Horde. We are allied with the Undercity through this.”

Garrosh paused for a moment, nodding, and Lor’themar didn’t turn away, though he was relieved. The orc was far cleverer than some.

“If you would allow me…” Rommath’s voice was calm as he stepped forward, and Lor’themar nodded softly. “Warchief, with your permission, I would send and expeditionary force out to help survey some of the damages. The Reliquary is-”

“Very well.” Hellscream nodded, and even Rommath fell silent. “Leave a delegation here.” He stepped back, settling into place on a seat on the dais in the keep. “Hellscream’s eyes are on you, elves.”

Lor’themar nodded, bowing low. “Thank you, Warchief. We are happy to serve the Horde in any way.”

As they stepped from the keep, his could almost feel himself sinking into the hot Durotar sand. He glanced to Rommath, who was busy speaking with a small group that he could only assume were from the Reliquary, his new pet project.

“That went well.” Halduron fell into step behind Lor’themar, his tone playful but the words almost biting. “And now where do we go, my Lord?”

Lor’themar frowned, his anger rising for a moment before he spoke. “You may return home, Brightwing.”

He could hear Halduron hesitate at the unfamiliarity of it all, and his voice lost the biting sarcasm. “Yes…” And he paused, as if tripping over his own thoughts. “Lor.”

Lor’themar shook his head as Halduron walked toward the rangers, directing a small group to stay and the rest to return home. He sighed, resting fingers against his right temple to stave off a headache brought on by frustration and the heat. Perhaps he had misspoken. He rarely knew what to say to Halduron anymore- how to react to him, and there was a small fear that perhaps anything he said only drove them further apart.

“My Lord.” Rommath’s voice broke the reverie, and Lor’themar turned to face him. “We are ready to depart for the Echo Isles.”

“Ah, yes.” Lor’themar frowned. It wouldn’t do to visit Orgrimmar and not visit the other races, he had been told. He understood politeness, but he also understood brevity, and he had no desire to spend a week away from Silvermoon. “Let’s get it over with. I have no desire to spend more time than necessary with the trolls.”

“Always a ranger, hmm?” Rommath shook his head softly. “Please don’t forget that these trolls are our allies, at least.”

He nodded just once, pausing for a moment before he spoke. “And after we depart from the isles…”

“You have a visit with the Tauren, of course.”

He sighed. “Of course.”

“With all due respect, Regent Theron, a regent’s place is-“

“To not be lectured.” Lor’thermar frowned at Rommath, who simply half-shrugged. “Please make arrangements for a contingent of dragonhawks to transport us to Thunder Bluff in the morning.”

Rommath nodded, bowing slightly as he stepped back toward the assembled honor guard.

It was approaching sundown when they finally arrived at the Echo Isles- the long shadows turning eerie as they approached, bat fluttering between the palms and cats stalking from through the undergrowth. Knowing that there were trolls only leant to Lor’themar’s unease- he had fought the Amani for far too long to ever be comfortable around the Darkspear.

He could tell there were more than cats in the undergrowth long before they arrived at the village proper. Perhaps Rommath was right, certain instincts never did go away. Being a ranger was in his blood- the forests of Quel’thalas were more than a home, and he had hunted and tracked through the woods since he could barely run. He knew well when he was being tracked, but he did nothing. The feeling gnawed at him, if there was anything he hated, it was allowing himself to be seen as nothing more than prey.

The village was small enough, centered around a large wooden building , and Vol’jin stood in front of it, flanked by guards. Lor’themar dismounted from his hawkstrider, stepping forward and bowing politely.

“Chief Vol’jin, it is a pleasure to see you again.” When he met the troll’s eyes, he was disarmed by an almost kind smile.

“Tha scouts told me ya not sneakin’ up on us. Ya just call me ol’ Vol’jin.”

“Yes, I noticed your scouts.” Lor’themar frowned slightly.

Vol’jin laughed, and stepped forward, offering a three-fingered hand. “We got food, ya stay an’ eat. Got beds, too, soon ya see.”

“See what, exactly?” Rommath had cleared his throat as he clumsily dismounted, taking his staff in hand and using it for support.

“We not da’ Amani.” Vol’jin smirked. “Ya among friends now.”

Lor’themar glanced back to Rommath, who raised his eyebrows. The troll was more perceptive than they had estimated. Lor’themar nodded.

“We thank you for your generosity, Vol’jin.”

Vol’jin gestured to the guards, almost to shoo them. “Go on, den. Take dey birds, don’cha put dem wit’ da raptors.” He spoke less than a leader of a people might, and more like the patriarch of a family. He chuckled as the guards quickly scattered. He turned back to Lor’themar, leveling his eyes on him and nodding. “Ya come see me when ya ready to. I be waitin’.”

Dinner was a simple affair- roasted and spiced meats, fruits and vegetables from the local islands, and the Blood Elves barely ate enough to satisfy the trolls. It was certainly different fare than they were used to- even the rangers peered searchingly at their plates. Lor’themar ate enough that he nearly felt ill, but he was thankful to see that the rangers, at least, were relaxing a bit. After the meal, some groups split off, several of the more adventurous rangers, in particular, gathering around a bonfire pit to share stories with the Darkspear hunters.

At least there was that.

Rommath left him alone, mostly, staying with the Blood Knights who milled about but mostly kept to themselves. It was well past dark when he stole away from the rest, longing for some time alone to have a bloodthistle cigarette and think.

He was standing near the trees that bordered one of the beaches, thinking over the brief meeting with the Warchief, when a shadow slipped through the trees to stand near him, approaching him from his non-blind side. Vol’jin smiled a bit, holding a pipe and heavy smoke trailing behind him.

“Ya come ‘ere ta tink?”

Lor’themar nodded, almost cautiously. “We met with the Warchief earlier.”

Vol’jin made a dismissive sound. “We out here ‘cause a’ Hellscream. We got no love for ‘im ‘ere.”

Lor’themar furrowed his eyebrows. That was new information. Certainly, he knew the trolls had largely left Orgrimmar, but he didn’t exactly hear the circumstances of it. He would need to mention that to the other two. “We are…far removed from the politics of Orgrimmar.”

Vol’jin nodded. “Ya ‘ere what ‘e wants ya ta’ ‘ere. I tell ya true.” He took a deep breath, inhaling from his pipe and holding the smoke for a few moments before exhaling. “We not leavin’ da’ Horde ‘cause I remember what it use ‘ta be.”

“If I recall, you were close friends with the former Warchief?”

Vol’jin nodded, smiling. “Ya. Thrall was good ta’ us, we returning da favor now.”

Lor’themar thought, taking a drag from his cigarette. The smoke was starting to clear his head a bit, and he frowned. “Why leave Orgrimmar, then?”

Vol’jin spit into the sandy dirt. “We Darkspear maybe serve da’ Horde, but not Hellscream. I not be sacrificin’ my people ‘an dere pride fo’ dat.”

There was something he could relate to, and Lor’themar nodded. “Perhaps, in that, we are much alike.”

“We not so differen’.” Vol’jin nodded. “Ya learn, we not da Amani.”

In spite of himself, Lor’themar smiled. “I understand.” And, for once, it wasn’t mere politeness that caused him to stay it.

Vol’jin nodded, but said nothing, almost in silent understanding of the unspoken shame that hung over every Blood Elf. To know how often there was the feeling of “we’re not one of them”.

They were silent for a few minutes, interrupted by the occasional cough, but it was not a tense sort of quiet. Lor’themar almost appreciated it, though he wasn’t certain how much of that was because he had come to an understanding with the troll and how much was because his mind was going hazy with the smoke.

Finally, Vol’jin spoke, looking out over the water and the moon reflecting off of the surface. “Ya sleep well, Regen’ Teron. And ya remember- if ya ever need da Darkspear, we come ta ya.”

Lor’themar nodded, and managed a half smile. “And the blood elves to you, Vol’jin.” It was half politeness toward allies, half meant out of appreciation of the offer.

Vol’jin slipped back into the trees, leaving only smoke in his wake, and Lor’themar looked back out over the water and the surrounding islands. The full moon’s light rippled off of the water, bathing everything in a silvery light.

Perhaps he understood the Darkspear more than he had thought. He had never considered trolls truly allies, but to think of it in a different way, to see that they had things in common…

He took one final drag from the bloodthistle, dropping the end onto the sandy dirt and toeing it with his boot. Perhaps he had misjudged the trolls, and Vol’jin in particular. He folded his arms across his chest as he watched the water.

Maybe they were unlikely allies, after all.


End file.
